


Truth or Dare?

by JustinTimberlake



Category: Football RPF, Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 14:27:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16348439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustinTimberlake/pseuds/JustinTimberlake
Summary: Jesse and Marcus have conned their way into a team game of Truth or Dare and Harry is genuinely a little terrified by the prospect. It doesn't help that Dele is avoiding him and he just doesn't know why. He wishes that he could stop thinking about him and just have fun, but that's going to prove very difficult when your whole squad is against you.





	Truth or Dare?

Harry knows that this isn’t a good idea. He doesn’t even normally  _ drink, _ let alone do shots. Yet, here he is, eyeing the much-too-full shot of tequila nervously. Pickford looks at him and rolls his eyes. 

“Just fucking down it, mate. Not that hard.”

Harry scoffs and shrugs his shoulders. There’s no way he’s doing it until the limes are cut. He’s secure enough in himself to admit that without the lime, he would throw the tequila right back up. Surely that was more embarrassing than just waiting for a minute for John to stop chatting to Kyle,  waving the knife around with a dopey grin on his face, and finally cut the fucking limes. 

Harry stands there quietly for another minute or so, then just gives up and walks away, instead pouring himself a stiff whiskey. Too stiff. He winces as he takes a big gulp. But he takes another right away, knowing he has to psych himself up for the night. He’s pretty sure that Marcus and Jesse have conned their way into finally having a team game of Truth or Dare and he’s sort of terrified by the prospect. 

The real reason that Harry is feeling a little on edge, though, is because he feels like Dele is avoiding him, and normally, Dele would be Harry’s crutch on nights like these, easing him into the party spirit.

When Harry had first entered the room earlier that evening, Dele took one look at him, sweeping his eyes from Harry's hair to his toes before he had quite literally walked out of the room. At another point, he stopped talking mid-conversation as soon as Harry has walked over, and a few minutes later, Harry could feel Dele looking at him but as soon as he glanced back at him Dele looked away. 

And Harry has no idea why. 

He’s racking his brains trying to think of what he could possibly have done to upset Dele, but he can’t think of anything. Can’t pinpoint any particular moment that something changed. It’s killing him. 

“C’mon then, lads!” Jesse hollers. “Get your arses sat in a circle pronto.” 

Harry looks over at Jesse and Marcus with a fair amount of dread, then slowly makes his way over to the lads who are gathering around them. He goes to sit down and he is a little lost. He tries to catch Dele’s eye but he still won’t look at him. Dejected, he sits awkwardly in between John and Kieran. He avoids looking up as he sees out of the corner of his eye that Dele is sitting down directly opposite him, and just looks down at his hands. He can’t deal with the awkwardness of Dele so obviously ignoring him again. 

John nudges him, and is smiling when Harry looks up at him. 

“You alright, H?”

Harry nods. He’s about to say something but John interrupts him.

“Don’t worry about it, Harry. Really.”

Harry frowns.

“What do you mean?”

John looks at him meaningfully. 

“Just don’t worry, alright?” 

With that, he turns around and yells to Kyle to bring he and Harry another drink. Harry tries to protest, saying he doesn’t need another one, but John’s response is to ask Kyle for doubles. Harry quiets, not wanting to up the ante any farther. He doesn’t trust either of the City lads to not escalate the situation to Biblical proportions and give him 10 shots in one drink.

Kyle hands him a tall glass of clear liquid. Harry eyes it dubiously but thanks him anyway, shooting him a quick smile. Kyle ruffles his hair as he walks away, making him laugh a little. He hears a cough from across the circle and looks up instantly. He’s only greeted by Dele’s eyes darting away. 

Frustrated, Harry takes a deep swig of the vodka lemonade, and pulls a face.  _ Whatever.  _ Harry thinks.  _ Just have fun and forget all about Dele.  _

Of course, just as he decides to have fun, it’s decided that he has to go first. 

“To be fair, mate, you are the Captain,” John says apologetically. Harry nods, accepting his fate, and John nods back. “Alright. So. Truth or Dare?” 

“Truth.”

A few people groan, probably thinking it’s a boring choice, but Harry doesn't care. It’s the first one, he’s not going to go straight for a dare. He’s not crazy.

John deliberates for a second.

“Who’s your favourite person on the team?”

Harry doesn’t pause to think. If he had, he might’ve answered differently, given the circumstances.

“Dele.” 

He realises what he’s said a split second after the words leave his mouth, and he darts his eyes up to meet Dele’s in a panic. He’s even more shocked when he notices Dele looking back at him. For the first time that night, Dele is actually meeting his eyes. Harry thinks he might be smiling, but he can’t really tell. What he does notice, though, is that Dele has turned a light shade of red. His heart sinks.  _ It’s probably from anger _ , he thinks sadly, and he swallows and looks away. 

He turns to Kieran. 

“Truth or Dare?”

\--

As the game progresses, the dares get worse and more outrageous and sexual, the truths more and more invasive. 

Maguire has to streak down the corridor, narrowly avoiding an altercation with Gareth. Kieran is forced to reveal that he has a vibrator. And Marcus and Jesse kiss. Harry isn’t so sure that was part of a dare, though. 

It’s Dele’s turn. He picks truth.

“Alright,” Jesse says. “I’ll give you two names, you gotta say who you’d fuck and who you’d kill.”

Dele rolls his eyes, and waves at him to go on.

“Mila Kunis,” Jesse says, and this time it’s not just Dele rolling his eyes. Everyone knows Dele has a massive crush on Mila Kunis, so the line of questioning seems a bit pointless. “Or…” Jesse smirks, and leans back against the wall confidently. “Harry Kane?”

Harry starts to laugh, but then looks at Dele again, who’s once again meeting his eyes, and he quickly shuts up. This time, Harry doesn’t look away. He can’t. Dele’s looking at him with a burning intensity and he feels rooted to the spot. Dele’s lips slowly pull into a smirk, and he breaks eye contact with Harry to slowly trace the lines of Harry’s body with his eyes. Harry shivers, a little self-conscious. He’s been self-conscious about his tight-fitting, sort-of low cut shirt all night long anyway, so Dele’s attention just intensifies that feeling.

“Oh,” Dele drawls in a low voice. “I’d  _ definitely  _ fuck Harry Kane.”

Harry can feel himself turning bright red.  _ What the fuck? _ He shifts awkwardly where he’s sitting, and darts his eyes away from and back to Dele, who is still staring at him, smirking. Harry clears his throat, coughs out a little nervous laugh, and looks over to Eric, who’s asking for a dare. He half-watches as Eric gives Henderson the most awkward lap-dance Harry has ever seen - not that he’s seen many - and tries to ignore the prickling feeling of Dele’s eyes staring him down. He feels like he’s got whiplash. First, Dele avoids him all night long, then he proudly announces that he would fuck him, and now, as soon as Harry wishes he would look away, he won’t stop staring.

Harry zones out a little as everyone else carries on taking turns, only briefly tuning in when John says that Harry is his favourite Southerner, causing a lot of outrage across the room. John winks at him and nudges his arm, and Harry gives him a little silly grin before fist-bumping him. 

“He has to say that, I’m his Captain.”

John bats his arm, smiling widely at him. 

“No, Harry!” he leans into Harry’s side and bats his eyelashes up at him. Harry rolls his eyes and laughs, but doesn’t push him away. He’s a little worried if he did, John would fall over. He’s pretty drunk. “H...you’re the best. You’re so nice and great. And…” he tugs on Harry’s shirt sleeve. “You’re looking pretty sharp tonight, too.”

Harry rolls his eyes again, laughing loudly, this time finally pushing John away and shaking his head. He glances around the circle, sees everyone laughing along, then his eyes rest on Dele. His hands are balled up into fists, his brows are furrowed, and his mouth is set in a firm line. He looks absolutely furious. 

Before John can even ask him, since Harry knows John will only keep at the joke, Harry answers the question before it’s posed.

“Dare.”

John grins like the cat that just caught the canary.

“The dare is in two parts,” John answers quickly. Harry nods, a little uncomfortable about how little John had to think about it. “First, take off your shirt.”

Harry shrugs, and divests himself of the shirt. That’s not too bad of a dare, really. They’ve all seen him without his shirt on almost daily for the past two months. 

Harry is sat there topless for a few moments, waiting for the second part of the dare, but John is too busy alternating between smirking over at Dele and patting Harry’s bare arm. Harry clears his throat, but John just rests his hand on his bicep, grinning over at Dele the entire time. Harry has no idea what the hell is happening, and can only assume that John knows exactly what Harry did to annoy Dele, and is just trying to make it worse. A little annoyed, he shrugs John’s hand off his arm.

“What’s the second part, then?”

John smiles at Harry. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Harry,” he smiles sweetly up at him. “So, the second part of the dare. Choose one of us to take a body shot off you. Any of us.” He winks. “Including me.” 

Harry, again, is disappointed in himself by how little thought he puts into his answer, blurting out the one name he probably shouldn’t.

“Dele.”

John claps loudly, looking victorious, rushing off to get the salt, the lime and the tequila, and Dele glares daggers after him. Harry glances around at everyone in the circle, who are whooping and laughing, and shakes his head with a little embarrassed laugh. 

Harry starts to apologise when he sees how angry Dele looks, but the apology gets caught in his throat when Dele starts crawling over to him. He freezes. Dele is now right in front of him, still looking so  _ so  _ angry, and it’s just so foreign to Harry to see this anger directed at him that he doesn’t know what to do. 

Dele looks at him for a long moment, then something in his expression softens. He gives Harry a small smile, and puts a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You’re gonna have to lie down, H.” 

It’s the first thing Dele has said to him all night. 

Harry swallows. He lies down. He feels like he should close his eyes, but he can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away as Dele picks up the wedge of lime and brings it to Harry’s mouth. He taps on Harry’s lip to get him to open up, and when Harry complies, he places the lime between his lips. Harry has to repress a shiver when Dele’s finger accidentally brushes his lower lip. He bites down softly on the lime and blinks up at Dele, who is looking at him with that strange intensity again. 

Dele picks up the salt and he finally breaks eye contact briefly with Harry as he looks down at his hands. When he looks back at Harry, he looks awkward, and whispers a quiet “sorry,” before he quickly leans down and licks a long, long line up the side of Harry’s throat. 

This time, Harry does shiver a little. Surely that didn’t have to be such a long line. Surely it shouldn’t be making Harry feel so...weird. Dele sprinkles the salt along the line on Harry’s throat, the spit helping it to stick, and then moves back again, grabbing the shot glass out of John’s hand roughly, refusing to look at him. He pours a decent amount of the tequila into the shot glass, and very carefully places it on Harry’s belly button. Harry tenses up as he places it down, and takes a deep breath, trying to keep it steady. 

Harry warily keeps his eyes on Dele, blinking rapidly as Dele starts to lean down again towards his neck, pausing halfway down to squeeze Harry’s shoulder like he’s steadying a startled deer. He smiles at him encouragingly, then finishes his journey down to Harry’s neck. 

When Harry feels Dele start to lick the salt off his jaw, he lets out a loud exhale, and closes his eyes. He keeps them tightly closed as he feels Dele lightly suck at the column of his throat. When Dele’s teeth graze his skin lightly, he hums involuntarily, a weird little high-pitched, embarrassing noise. He feels Dele do it again, and he wants to fucking die. It feels like Dele is making out with his throat, and he can feel himself getting hot.

Doing a body shot off your best mate should just be funny. It shouldn’t make you feel like this. 

Harry is so ashamed by his reaction that he can’t bring himself to open his eyes. He’s getting turned on from his best mate doing a body shot off him, after he’s already pissed him off all night. He miserably hopes that it doesn’t become any more noticeable. If Dele notices, he will just get even more annoyed at him, and he doesn’t think he can take that.

Dele’s lips finally leave his neck, and Harry breathes a sigh of relief. He finally opens his eyes. It’s a mistake. Dele is looking at him with the same burning intensity, and he doesn’t let Harry look away as he puts his hands on Harry’s torso, just above his hip bone. Harry watches Dele bite his lip as he brushes his fingers down Harry’s hips, scratching lightly at his lower stomach. Harry wonders briefly if this is all necessary, just as Dele’s fingers dip just a little too low, one snaking just briefly under the waistband of his trousers, seemingly accidentally. 

“Oops,” Dele mutters, but his stare is completely unapologetic. 

Harry almost chokes when he thinks about how close Dele is to touching his dick, and internally groans when he realises how fucking hard he’s getting. He can’t deal with it when Dele starts leaning down to grab the shot glass between his lips, and he most definitely can’t deal with the mental image that suddenly arises of Dele leaning down like that to get something else between his lips. He feels his eyes roll back into his head. 

Dele takes the shot. 

Harry hears the shot glass bouncing across the floor as Dele spits it out, and he looks back up to see Dele’s face hovering right above his own. Dele is smiling, but the smile is dark. A little evil, even. He leans forward and starts to suck at the lime between Harry’s lips. And now, Harry can’t be sure, because his judgement seems to be a little clouded, both by the situation and the alcohol, but it sort of seems like Dele is using the lime as an excuse to make out with him. This assessment largely comes from the fact that the lime falls out of his mouth at least thirty seconds before Dele stops sucking at his lips. The thought makes him go hot all over.

Dele pulls back and smiles at him, exceedingly politely. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen an expression like that on Dele’s face before. Dele goes back to the other side of the circle, and Harry finally tunes back into his surroundings, blushing even brighter when he notices everyone grinning at him, Stonesy in particular looking like he’d just won the fucking lottery. 

Harry pulls a face as John hands him a new drink, quietly whispering to him that he needs to keep himself hydrated if he’s going to be doing stuff like  _ that,  _ and Harry lightly shoves him before he brings his hand back to his own face and rumples his hair, a little stressed.

The dares go around the circle, and Harry remains quiet. He can’t talk. He’s an absolute mess. He can’t stop thinking about Dele. About what just happened. About Dele licking his neck, sucking his throat, leaning to his crotch -

“Hazza!” John exclaims, shaking Harry out of his reverie. “Your turn!”

“Never call me that again.”

He tries to look moodily at John, but can’t hold it for long before he’s laughing despite himself. John grins up at him like a big dumb puppy. He doesn’t know why John’s being so affectionate with him tonight, but he finds himself enjoying it. Harry always feels like the rest of the team take him pretty seriously, so he quite likes the fact that John is messing around with him. And John’s always been a good friend, but tonight, he feels like he and John are really close. It’s nice.

John doesn’t ask him with his words if he wants Truth or Dare, and instead communicates entirely non-verbally. He mimes with his hands someone talking, opening and shutting his mouth like a fish, then he shrugs in lieu of an “or,” before he just starts waving his arms like a madman. Harry’s a little unsure of how that represents a dare, but he doesn’t call John out on it. Can’t really be bothered with the fake argument that would inevitably follow. Instead, he lets out a little huff of laughter and shakes his head once.

“Dare.” 

“Oh good, I’ve been planning your dare for the last ten minutes!” 

Somehow, this doesn’t make Harry feel too good.

“This one’s especially for you, Captain Harry. You can finally punish us properly. I dare you to spank the naughtiest member of the team. Ten times. Hard.”

Harry closes his eyes briefly.  _ Why? _ Why does he have to do this? And how the hell is he meant to choose who to - who to spank? 

He bites his lips, shakes his head.

He briefly thinks of Dele, but then dismisses the thought with sheer panic. There’s no way he could do that. Not under normal circumstances, but certainly not now. 

Then he thinks of Stones. He could spank him, but he’s a little too worried about how John would play up into it, considering the way he’s been acting all night. It would be embarrassing in an entirely different way if John acted like he was into it when Harry was forced to spank him. So that thought is also dismissed.

He looks around the room, and feels absolutely helpless. He can’t pick any of them. He just can’t. 

“Ten seconds or I pick for you,” John whispers in his ear.

Harry shakes his head.

“I can’t do it, John,” he mumbles.

“You can’t pick?”

“I can’t do it.”

John appraises him, then starts to smile. The smile is tinged with something just a little bit menacing.

“So you forfeit?”

Harry sighs, then nods his head jerkily. He then looks back at John and smiles and bats his eyelashes. Maybe he can charm John into giving him an easy forfeit, he thinks. 

John just laughs and winks at him.

“Okay...so, this one’s a bit of a throwback to about fifteen minutes ago. This time, you’ve got to do a body shot off Dele.”

Harry sighs but accepts it. He supposes that’s not so bad. Then he notices John holding one finger up, clearly not done. He suddenly feels a little anxious.

“You’re not gonna lick the salt off his neck though.”

“I’m not?”

“Nah. You’re gonna do it off his thigh. The inside of it.”

This time, it’s Dele who pipes up.

“How’s it gonna stick to my jeans?”

John grins wolfishly, and Harry’s heart sinks.

“It’s not.”

Harry looks over at Dele and shoots him a pleading look. He knows it will be uncomfortable, but he also doesn’t want to lose the forfeit. He’s not sure what the next step down from that would be, but he just knows it would be dire. He’s not ended up having to do anything yet that could jeopardize his career too badly, but he feels like it’s sort of looming. 

Dele holds his gaze for a couple of minutes, then nods. Harry thinks he can see Dele going a little red. 

“Ok.”

Harry watches a little nervously as Dele unbuttons his jeans. 

Dele stands up to take them off, and Harry tries to look anywhere else than at Dele’s tight black boxers and his toned calves and his thick fucking thighs. Of course, though, he can’t help himself. 

Dele sits back down again, and Harry gulps before he starts to crawl over to him. John pats him on the back as he leaves, hand landing a little lower down than Harry would normally like, and he almost turns around to scold John until he notices Dele spreading his legs a little and moving down to lean back on his elbows. 

Now that is an image that Harry will never forget.

John crawls forward himself, taps Harry on the shoulder and hands him the bottle, the I <3 London shot glass and a little wedge of lime. 

He leans in once again to whisper in Harry’s ear.

“Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Harry ignores him, but watches with interest how Dele leans back up to shove John away, eyes blazing.

He waits until Dele meets his eyes again, then tries to smile at him encouragingly. He’s pretty sure it comes out as more of a pained grimace than anything else. Dele’s eyes are still blazing as he lets out a deep breath, leans back and spreads his legs just a little farther. 

Harry can feel Dele’s eyes on him as he rests a hand on Dele’s thigh. He pours the shot a little clumsily, rests it on Dele’s belly button even more clumsily, and all but throws the lime into Dele’s open mouth. He figures the faster he does this, the less discomfort will be felt all round.

The moment of hesitation comes just before Harry has to set the salt. 

He moves his right hand a little up Dele’s thigh to get a better hold of him before he finally takes the plunge and bends his neck, licking a short, narrow line up the inside of Dele’s tanned thigh. Dele’s leg twitches, and Harry tightens his grip instinctively, digging his fingers into the muscle as he sprinkles the salt over the line. He thinks he hears a noise come from up above him, but he can’t be sure, because he’s taking the plunge, leaning down and sucking the salt off Dele’s warm skin. A little bit has dropped further down inside, and Harry uses his grip on Dele’s thigh to spread his legs just that little bit further so that he can chase it. 

This time, he definitely hears Dele whimper. 

It makes him go hot all over again.

He lifts his head up so quickly he thinks he might get whiplash, but in his hurry he knocks the shot glass with his forehead, spilling it all over Dele’s stomach. Before he can even think about it, before he can think this through, he’s lapping at the dark liquid that is trickling all over Dele’s belly. He sucks at Dele’s belly button and Dele bucks his hips, letting out a loud whimper through his nose. 

Harry can’t quite believe this is happening. 

He’s a little alarmed by the startling realisation that if he wasn’t hyper-aware of the entire team watching, he would immediately move further down Dele’s body and lap at his boxers the same way he’s been lapping at his skin.  _ God.  _ He wants to blow Dele so bad. He has no idea how this has happened.

He moves up Dele’s body to take the lime out of his mouth, but Dele spits it out before he can, and grips Harry’s hair, pulling him in for a deep, messy kiss. 

Harry can vaguely hear cheers and laughter, but he can’t be sure because he’s too focused on the fact that he’s  _ kissing _ his best friend. Dele’s tongue is in his mouth. Dele’s teeth are gnawing at his bottom lip. It’s  _ Dele’s  _ moan that he can hear when he grinds his hips down on the person beneath him. And it’s Dele’s fingers that are running up and down his chest, eventually landing on the waistband of his jeans, starting to fiddle with the button.

Harry feels himself being pushed back, and is brought back to reality pretty fucking quickly. John kisses Harry on the cheek, then Dele, then puts his arm around both of them.

“It finally happened!”

Kyle laughs loudly, and Harry looks over and sees that Maguire is doing some sort of chicken victory dance. Kieran and Henderson begrudgingly toss some notes and coins at his feet. He is so distracted by the thought that the team were betting on he and Dele kissing that he doesn’t realise Dele is pulling him to his feet.

“I think me and Harry are going to get going,” Dele says, impatiently tugging on Harry’s arm. “Right?”

Dele pauses, then looks at him meaningfully. He leans in and his voice drops to a whisper.

“We don’t have to do anything. But let’s get out of here anyway.”

Harry nods, and the pair ignore the jeers, and the condoms that Pickford and Stones toss at them on their way out.

Dele smiles at him sweetly when they get out into the corridor, and looks at Harry for further instruction, clearly wondering if they were going to the same room. Harry relives the entire evening from an entirely different perspective. 

He relives John’s blatant flirting and Dele’s answering fury.

He relives Maguire telling Dele with a grin to look at Harry’s new shirt, and Dele’s eyes raking over him before he stormed out of the room.

He relives Dele saying that he’d fuck him, relives Dele’s whimpers, relives Dele sucking at his neck like a fucking vampire, and finally, Dele kissing him desperately.

He grins. 

“Let’s go to my room.”

Dele looks like Christmas has come early, and skips along happily. Harry can’t believe how happy he is in this moment as he drags Dele down the hall by his wrist. 

After all, Harry knows that Dele said they don’t  _ have  _ to do anything.

But that doesn’t mean they won’t. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
